


Through Many Doors

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4. Oliver and Felicity enter into a heated gunfight—against each other.<br/>5. Oliver is almost a little embarrassed, privately, at how slowly he fell in love with Felicity.<br/>6. Felicity is minorly injured and Oliver insists she let him take care of her.<br/>7. HS AU; Oliver has an issue with his laptop and needs Felicity to dig him out of trouble, but he and Tommy will have to provide a distraction first.<br/>8. Tommy discovers a piece of Felicity's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Offering a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity get lost in Metropolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence provided/prompted by andyouweremine (alwaysaqueen)

"Take me back."

Felicity bounced against Oliver’s back, one hand tugging on his shoulder to try and steer him around.

Oliver shook his head, rubbing his lips together against a tiny smile as he stopped. Turning his head, he tried to catch her eye, but all he got was her profile. “Back where, Felicity?”

He shifted his hands under her knees, jiggling her weight to rest more evenly across his forearms. He’d gotten them lost in the streets of Metropolis and, when Felicity had started falling behind, Oliver had laughingly offered her a piggyback ride.

He hadn’t actually expected her to accept.

But now they’d probably strolled two city blocks with Felicity plastered against his back—a situation he was doing his best not to think too hard about—and Felicity seemed intent on getting her money’s worth out of the ride.

She turned to him with a sunny grin, propping her chin on his shoulder. “We passed a little bookshop like three buildings back and I’d like to go in, please.”

Oliver inhaled softly, eyes momentarily glued to Felicity’s lips and how  _close_  they were. “Fine. But I’m setting you down when we get inside. I have limits, Felicity.”

She patted a hand between his shoulder blades consolingly and sat up, flushing him with relief as her face left his eyeline. “I know you do. Now onward, my noble steed!” She bounced against him again, and Oliver’s eyelashes fluttered at the  _distinct_  feel of her breasts pressing against the back of his neck as she strained forward to see over his head. “Or backward, that’s probably more accurate, but you know what I meant.”

He shook his head and turned around to find Felicity’s bookshop, and she stayed sitting high, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck to rest her forearms along his clavicle. He could feel her heart beating against the crown of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a multipairing drabble collection. Each chapter summary will indicate what ship (if it's not gen) so you may peruse as you please.


	2. Under Canopies of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity recreate one of his childhood memories, and make one of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olicity first-sentence prompt by amellthirst

"Wanna make one?"

Oliver blinked at Felicity in surprise. “A tent fort?”

She shrugged, grinning and biting her lip. “It’s just, when you were talking about the ones you and Tommy used to make, you had this look on your face… like you were having fun just remembering it.”

Oliver sucked in  a sharp breath, betrayed by a prickle behind his eyes.

Felicity’s head tilted softly, her hair shushing loose across her shoulders to slide against the back of the couch. “I know it won’t be the same. I can’t be Tommy, and I can’t bring him back. But I thought, maybe, just for an hour or two… we could honor those memories of you two drowning the sitting room in Raisa’s clean sheets. Have a little fun, in Tommy’s name.”

Oliver swallowed and tried to laugh. It came out so rough, and a little sad, a little shy. “Felicity, I’m almost thirty years old.”

She rolled her eyes, then reached over and lightly punched the arm slung across the couch back. “You are  _never_  too old for tent forts.”

Oliver looked down at his fingers on his lap, fingernail slowly scraping up and down the grooves in the denim of his jeans. “You know…” slowly, he smiled. “I think Tommy would agree with you.”

Felicity beamed like the sun coming out. “I think he would.” She bounced to her feet, hands slapping her thighs. “I’ll go get some sheets.”

An hour later, Felicity’s living room had vanished beneath draped and billowing cotton, linen, plaid, and satin. (Oliver had raised slow eyebrows at her over the folded, red satin sheet set in his hands and licked his lips so deliberately Felicity thought she might actually burst into flame.)

They lay on their backs beside each other beneath the black jersey sheet set patterned in multicolored galaxy swirls that stretched from one corner of the couch to the top of Felicity’s bookshelf. Felicity laced her fingers over her stomach and stared up at the sheets, rolling her head so her ear brushed Oliver’s shoulder. “Do you like it?”

Oliver sighed, long and steady, and let something warm and content uncurl in his chest. Voice hoarse, he whispered. “Yeah.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Good. What’s your favorite part? The divided plaid tent, or the satin cocoon, or the stargazing section we’re under?”

Oliver ran his eyes over Felicity’s face, cheeks flushed, the air a little warm from all the cloth insulation and their close breathing, her hair in unselfconscious disarray. Moving carefully, he leveraged up onto one elbow, holding her gaze. “This one.”

Felicity’s smile shrank, lips open, inviting as she stared at him, wetted by the tip of a pink tongue.

Oliver dropped his eyes to linger on her mouth. “You.” He reached across and smoothed a stray lock of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, tracing down the soft rim of the shell from industrial piercing to lobe with one callused fingertip. “You’re my favorite part.”

Her breath caught, lashes fluttering. “Oliver…”

Very slowly, very patiently, he leaned down, but she didn’t move. When he covered her mouth with his, she pressed back. He kissed her a little harder, and she opened her mouth for him, invited him in.

For fifteen minutes Oliver did nothing but make out with Felicity in a blanket fort and he couldn’t help but think that Tommy would have approved of how Oliver and Felicity honored their childhood memories.


	3. Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity sees much more of Tommy after he died than she did when he lived. Of course, it's in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence/prompt by RosieTwiggs

Tommy visits her in her dreams. Considering they didn't really know each other, it should be weird but it isn't.

The first several times, she’s startled by him. They’re always in Verdant, the place she met him, the place that was always  _his_ , for as much as the foundry below it has always been Oliver’s (and Diggle’s, and… hers.)

She’d think she’d be less awkward and embarrassing in her own dreams, but she puts her foot in her mouth (and suggests other things might go there, mortifyingly) many times.

He always remembers her. Remembers her, remembers the last dream. He asks her about Laurel, Oliver, Thea. The club. Eventually Tommy asks her about her.

She dreams about him for weeks and weeks, and she tries to feel guilty about it—like Tommy never belonged to her, so she doesn’t deserve this weird grieving process she’s going through where she laughs and jokes with him, where he makes her feel better about Oliver leaving, where he trips over himself verbally and she thinks he’s… adorable—but instead she feels… comforted.

Tommy feels safe. The dreams are a refuge, and she wonders if they’d have become friends like this—real friends, not just people who knew each other through other people and shared large secrets—if he had—

Well.

Lived.

She stops trying to feel guilty about it when the dreams move to her place. He comments approvingly on the decor, peruses her bookshelf, pokes fun at her Errol Flynn poster—a sentimental gift from her mother, who is a huge fan of Old Hollywood movies.

She tells him about the money and time, blood sweat and tears she’s pouring into rebuilding the foundry; about the search she’s beginning for Oliver Queen. Argues with him for consecutive  _days_  (nights) about her mission, Oliver’s mission, about right and wrong, justice and murder and shades of gray.

She and Diggle drag Oliver home—practically by the ears, something Tommy gets a slightly bitter kick out of—and she rages at him (all sympathy) when Oliver pushes her into a job she doesn’t want and a reputation she worked  _too damn hard_  to ruin so easy.

She gets shot, and dreams about him, fevered from drugs and lingering pain. Everything is different, everything is wrong and—and this isn’t what they—this isn’t how they—this isn’t how she should be dreaming about a  _dead man_  she never got to claim as even a friend.

But her arm doesn’t hurt except a dull ache in her sleep, and it doesn’t matter because Tommy’s weight is all over her and his hands are under her shirt and his jeans are rough on the insides of her thighs—

and she’s never been kissed like this in her life, and his mouth is hot and wet on hers when he breathes, “Felicity. I’m  _not dead_.”

She wakes with a guilty, confused start. Stares at the bottle of oxycotin she knows isn’t aspirin on her bedside table and decides no more before bed.

A little lead ball of dread and confusion and guilt buries in her gut and never leaves.

She doesn’t dream about him again.

He swears she’s not dreaming a year later.


	4. Pull the Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity enter into a heated gunfight—against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/first sentence by Anonymous.

"Pull the trigger, Felicity."

She sighted down her arm at Oliver, fingers tightening on the grip, index finger moving from the guard to the trigger. “You don’t think I’ll do it?”

He smirked at her from under heavy brows, his gaze fixed and steady, broad shoulders rolling as he took another small, challenging step towards her. “I think if you were going to do it,” step, “you’d have done it by now.”

Felicity nervously licked her lips, one of her heels sliding back, heart racing. “Stop!”

He stopped.

"I will pull this trigger, Oliver Queen, do not test me, you  _stay back_.”

His smirk bloomed into a teeth-baring grin, and he  _lunged_  forward a step. Felicity shrieked, finger squeezing on the trigger—

Oliver jumped back, eyes wide, mouth slack, wetness spreading across his chest. “You actually hit me!”

"I  _told_  you I would, Oliver!” Felicity howled, still pumping the trigger, but the chamber on her water gun was empty. “Oh my  _god_ , no,  _stay away_ —!”

He lunged for her again, closing the distance between them and snaking an arm around her waist. He lifted his other hand in the air, grinning as he ignored her loud protests, and  _smacked_  the fragile water balloon he held down against her chest, where it burst in a stinging explosion of icy cold water.

Felicity squealed, hands on his chest and straining away from him as the water soaked all down her front. “Oliver, you  _jerk_!”

He laughed down at her, bringing his now empty other hand to settle against her hip. Her entire shirt was soaked through, now, and his into the bargain. His grey henley clung to ever ridge and ripple of his chest and abdomen, but Felicity’s thin, pale blue tank top looked slickly painted against her skin.

Oliver swallowed, his smile fading as his eyes traveled wide and transfixed over the soft, supple curves of Felicity’s stomach and breasts, the cold of the water pebbling her nipples visibly beneath her shirt.

"So," he murmured hoarsely, licking his lips. "No bra today?"

Felicity blushed and shivered, covering her chest with one arm as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes and bit her lip. Her other hand braced on his chest, index fingernail scraping up and down over the wet henley. “I wasn’t exactly planning on getting in a water fight when I got dressed this morning.”

"Thank god for that," Oliver chuckled, bending his head slowly towards hers.

Just as their lips brushed, hard blasts of water hit them both in the sides and shoulders, making them shout and burst apart.

Diggle stood by, shaking his head as he hefted his Super Soaker. “Don’t make me turn the hose on you two.”


	5. Falling Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is almost a little embarrassed, privately, at how slowly he fell in love with Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by andyouweremine (alwaysaqueen)

Oliver is almost a little embarrassed, privately, at how  _slowly_  he fell in love with Felicity.

It wasn’t at first sight, it wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t a thrown switch or an instantaneous realization.

The fall was gradual.

It almost snuck up on him.

His feelings for Felicity built up in his system over time, little things accruing, raising his body’s tolerance for the affection he felt for her, the respect and esteem he regarded her with. The pride she inspired in him, and the way she humbled and challenged him.

It was red pens and embarrassingly carnal reactions to foot-in-mouth-syndrome in the middle of a job—incredibly inconvenient and a little exasperating at the time, but another pebble on the looming avalanche that would engulf him so slowly and quietly he wouldn’t notice he was buried til he was out of air.

She crept in under his guard unintentionally. Those sunny smiles and fierce determination became utterly integral to his life, to making it through the day, to believing in their mission, in himself, in the strength of their team.

Felicity’s attraction to him—and early crush—was always obvious. It was obvious, it was flattering, and it was simple. She didn’t have expectations, but she appreciated his body, warmed under his attention. It was nice.  _God_  it was nice. It was easy.

Because it wasn’t supposed to ever go beyond  _nice_  or  _easy_.

She was a friend, a partner.

She wasn’t  _always_  more than that, but looking back he can’t actually pinpoint when she became so much less easy to define in his life. He just knows when he started noticing the danger; noticing everything had already shifted. The Count had taken her and by the end of it he knew he’d crossed lines without ever looking down to see them trampled under his boots.

Distance and ignoring it hadn’t helped for long.

By the time he falsely confessed he was in love with Felicity, it was well more than half true, and he was on his way to resigning himself to gravity. Some falls you can’t escape, and some you just want to enjoy the weightlessness.

He enjoyed it a little too much. Forgot that every fall hits a bottom, and love is no different.

Forgot to brace for impact.

Forgot Felicity might not be falling at the same rate he was. Might actually have been smart enough to cling to the edge of that final cliff before throwing all in and blindly leaping for the bottom.

Now he had to pick himself up. Put himself back together.

And if he was very… very lucky…

Maybe whatever he was when he was standing again would be someone she could be willing to fall for.

Someone she could trust to catch her at the bottom.


	6. Take Care of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is minorly injured and Oliver insists she let him take care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence/prompt by Anonymous.

"Let me take care of you."

Felicity sighed and waved him off as he reached for her. “I’m fine, Oliver, it’s hardly a big deal. I can take care of it myself when I get home.”

He pressed his lips together hard, nostrils flaring, eyes darting from the thin cut at her hairline—thankfully no longer seeping blood—and the scrape that skipped on the high apple of her cheekbone down to the edge of her jaw.

She took a dive on the steps outside the Starling Museum—and they’d absolutely be looking further into that driveby, but not right  _now_  like Felicity planned when she drove alone all the way straight to the foundry—and got roughed up on the concrete.

“I didn’t say let me take care of  _it_ , Felicity,” Oliver chided softly, gently taking hold of her shoulder. “I said let me take care of  _you_. Just because you  _can_  do it by yourself doesn’t mean you need to. You take care of me and Digg and Roy all the time when we get banged up. You can let me return the favor.”

She smiled at him, but shrugged off his hand, and the way she moved was strangely awkward as she stepped back. “Don’t worry about it. And I think we can consider any tally evened up from Sara pulling a bullet out of and then stitching my shoulder.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, folding his arms over his chest to keep from touching her again until she was willing to let him. “So is Sara the only one allowed to patch you up? Because I can call her and swear to god, Felicity, she will hop on a plane from wherever she is and butterfly bandage you herself.”

"Oliver,” she protested, tiredly. “We have bigger concerns. Somebody was being shot at today, my little booboos don’t matter—”

“Don’t you  _dare_ ,” Oliver growled, stepping into Felicity’s space to loom over her. She startled, eyes going wide and lips parting as she tilted her head back to stare up at him in surprise. He glared down at her, scowling. “Don’t you  _dare_  try to tell me you  _don’t matter_ , Felicity. Yes, somebody got shot at today, and  _you got hurt_. We’ll find out what was going on, of course we will, but please.”

He gave in, unfolding his arms and hovering his palms just above her elbows, killing himself a little by not letting them land on her skin. “Please. Let me take ten or fifteen minutes and see that you’re taken care of. Then we can save the city, or stop a mobster, or interrupt a gang turf war. But first, just let me take care of you.”

Felicity licked her lips and searched his eyes, his expression softening into a calm, sincere plea under her scrutiny. At last, she shut her eyes and sighed, chin dipping in a shallow nod. “Fine.”

Oliver couldn’t help it; he grinned. “Good. Great. Thank you.”

Felicity laughed. “Okay. How do you want me, in the bathroom or on the med bench?” Oliver opened his mouth to answer, completely missing the innuendo for once, but she caught it a beat later and flushed. “I mean—”

"Felicity,” Oliver chuckled, finally letting his fingers softly close around her upper arms. “I know what you meant.” He chucked his head towards the med bench. “Hop up.”

She got situated while he pulled supplies from the medical cart, laying out antiseptic, butterfly bandages, cotton swabs, and abrasion cream on the bench beside her.

“Sorry for being difficult,” Felicity muttered when he stood before her and dipped a cotton ball in antiseptic. “I’m just not used to this.”

Oliver carefully took her chin between thumb and forefinger, raising an eyebrow at her as he gently dabbed clean the cut at Felicity’s hairline. “Being the one injured?”

Felicity’s lips twitched and she rolled her eyes. “No, that’s actually been not that uncommon the past couple of years. We live explosive lives.” Oliver chuckled ruefully, and Felicity dropped her gaze to his chest, biting her lip. “Being taken care of. I’m not used to it.”

Oliver paused, taking a good look at the awkward uncertainty in Felicity’s face before he discarded the bloodied cotton ball and reached for a butterfly bandage. “Why not? You deserve to be taken care of, same as the rest of us.”

She smiled softly, but still didn’t look up at him as he smoothed her hair out of the way to place the bandage. “I’ve just always taken care of myself. My mom was—busy. All the time.” Oliver quietly began cleaning the scrapes on her cheek as he listened, and she continued softly, “It’s not that she didn’t want to be there, but it was just us, and keeping a grown woman and a kid clothed, sheltered, and fed in Las Vegas isn’t cheap, especially not on a cocktail waitress’s wages. So she worked a lot, and I took care of myself as much as I could, to make it easier on her.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said softly, applying another antiseptic-doused cotton ball to the scratched and bloodied skin on her jaw. “That had to be lonely, and hard.”

Felicity shrugged awkwardly, making Oliver pause when she accidentally jostled his hand. “I mean, it was. But I did okay, and I learned to be tough, and independent, and it’s served me well.” Suddenly, she met his eyes again and reached up, slipping her fingers around the wrist by her face. “But thank you for this, Oliver. I’m not used to being taken care of, but it  _is_  nice.”

He smiled at her, and she dropped her hand from his wrist again. She sucked in a breath, smiling back. “Mom may not have been around a lot, but when she was, she tried, you know? She wasn’t there to put Band-aids on me more often than not, but when she was, there was nothing in the world that was better than her taking care of me, kissing it better. So thank you for doing that for me.”

Oliver’s smile spread into a grin, and Felicity swore, eyes squeezing shut. “For taking care of me! Not—not kissing it better, I’m not five anymore, and wow, that would… be super awkward, probably, and inappropriate, I was  _definitely_  not trying to imply you should kiss me—kiss it! Kiss it better.”

“Felicity,” he murmured, a little laughter in his voice. She opened her eyes, skin flushed with embarrassment, and he waited until she was looking at him again to lean in and say, “Thank  _you_. For trusting me to take care of you.”

She blinked, and he  _felt_  as much as heard her breath catch, as close as he was now. He leaned a little closer, tilting his head to say into her ear, “And any time you’re hurt, I would be honored…” He pulled his head back just a little, just enough he could ghost his lips over her hairline, “to kiss it better.” He dropped his mouth to her cheek, repeated the action over her abraded cheekbone—her skin hot under the soft pressure of his lips. “It is my absolute,” he used his grip on her chin to tilt her head, and gently kissed the scrape on her jaw, “privilege.”

He stood straight again, grinning at her bright red face. Felicity stared at him with round eyes and suddenly exhaled in a rush—from holding her breath. Oliver ran his lower lip through his teeth to keep from laughing in amusement—and smugness. “Better?”

"Yup,” Felicity squeaked in a tight voice. “Mhmm. All better. Just, um, perfect. Yup.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting go of her chin. “Good. Now,” he picked up the tube of abrasion cream, hefting it so she could see it. She focused on it with laser intensity, as if the tube required her whole focus—as long as it wasn’t Oliver’s face. “You want to put this on your scrapes every three or four hours to avoid scarring. You want some help with—”

“Nope!” Felicity snatched the tube out of his hand and hopped to her feet, scooting quickly out of the small space between Oliver and the bench. “I can handle that. I’ve got it. Yup.” She hurried towards the bathroom, raising the tube in her fist overhead. “I’m good! Thanks!”

The door closed quietly behind her and Oliver shook his head, laughing, and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. One of these days—one of these days very, very soon—he was going to tell her all about how he would very much like to spend as much time as she would let him taking care of her, in so many, many ways, but he wasn’t sure if he’d get the words out before he gave in and tried to kiss them both better.

Because with Felicity, and her with him, Oliver was finally beginning to really, truly believe they could  _both_  be better. Together.


	7. The Internet Is For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HS AU; Oliver has an issue with his laptop and needs Felicity to dig him out of trouble, but he and Tommy will have to provide a distraction first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anonymous

“Felicity,” Oliver hissed.

Felicity looked up from checking over Tommy’s Jane Eyre essay draft with her red pen caught between her teeth, a quizzical line between her brows as Oliver sidled up to her seat on the edge of the fountain in the quad. The frown moved from between her brows to her lips around the barrel of the pen as she took note of his hunched shoulders, ducked chin, and the hunted darting of his eyes as he obsessively monitored the positions of the three other students scattered across the square with their lunches.

She pulled her pen free and tilted her head at him as he shuffled his feet inches from hers. “Oliver, what’s up? And why do you look like if you had a tail it’d be tucked between your legs?”

To her surprise, he blushed, jostling his left arm to bring her attention to the slim laptop tucked in the crook of his elbow. “I’m, um. Having a computer problem? And I really, really need your help.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes. “Okay, sure. Gimme.” She tucked the pages of Tommy’s essay under her butt and held out her hands palm up, making grabby motions.

Suspiciously, Oliver started to hand it over, then pulled it back to his chest, craning his neck to look around the quad again. “Where’s Tommy?”

Felicity’s hands dipped a few inches, her lips pursing. “He went to get me a soda. Oliver, what is the deal with you? You’re acting all… weird.”

Lips tucking between his teeth, he reached up his free hand to rub the back of his neck—a sure sign of guilt. But of what? “I got a virus or something, and I need you to get rid of it. Like. Now.”

Her head tilted hard to the side, mouth pulling at one corner as she held her hands out to him again. “Well I can’t help if you don’t hand it over.”

Sighing, Oliver reluctantly set the laptop on her palms. “Just. Be, like,  _discrete_.”

Felicity stared at him and thought about pointing out that they were in  _public_ , but shook her head instead. “What did you even do to this poor baby?”

She transferred her attention to the laptop as he sat down next to her, leaning forward and propping elbows on his spread knees and covering his mouth with his laced fingers. She lifted the lid—and the problem became  _immediately apparent_  as a breathy moan issued from the speakers.

Eyes wide—and forever painted with the footage on the screen—Felicity  _slammed_  the laptop shut, and whipped her head around to glare at Oliver, flushing bright red.

He wasn’t faring much better as he scrubbed his hand furiously over his hair.

” _Oliver_ ,” Felicity hissed, fingers spread across the laptop’s lid. “That is  _not a virus_.”

“I know,” he groaned, face buried in one wide palm.

She slapped his shoulder. Hard. “That is  _porn_.”

Slapped his shoulder again.

Oliver didn’t even flinch away. “I  _know_.”

Felicity inhaled hard through her teeth, her entire face too hot. “Why were you  _watching porn_  at school? Oh my god, what is  _wrong with you_.”

His head reared up to glare at her, eyes bright blue in his very red face. “I had study hall, okay? I was bored!”

“You were—!” Felicity’s mouth dropped open, hands flinging into the air. “ _Bored_! Oh my  _god_ , Oliver!”

He scanned the quad, briefly glaring at a freshman who was looking at them until the kid looked hurriedly away. “I was wearing headphones, alright? But suddenly they stopped working and everything was coming out of the speakers and I couldn’t make the video stop or  _close._ Felicity! Please.  _Please_.” He grabbed her upper arm, expression pitiful. “My term project is on there. The term project that is due next period. The term project you made me  _actually do_.  _Please_.”

Her mouth worked and she glared at him. “I should  _kill you_  for doing this to me. At school, Oliver! Oh my god.” She shook her head furiously, turning her glare on the laptop. “You owe me for this. You owe me for this  _so big_.”

"Yes!” He effused, hands raising in front of him like he might shout hallelujah. “Yes, I will owe you anything,  _anything_. Just. Please.”

"Ooh!” Tommy appeared at Felicity’s other side, two sweating plastic bottles of root beer in hand, eyebrows raising as his friends startled almost in sync. His eyes narrowed in on Felicity’s fingers on the edge of the laptop lid. “What is Oliver owing you the soul of his firstborn for? Are you doing his homework for him? Because after my many rejections, I feel that is patently unfair.”

Lips flattening, Felicity grabbed Tommy by the sleeve of his navy sweater and jerked him down onto the fountain edge beside her as Oliver once again glared around the square. “Do not draw attention right now, Tommy Merlyn, the last thing we need is more rumors about the three of us spawning out of this—pornpacalypse.”

Tommy’s brows nearly merged with his hairline. “P— _what_?” he laughed.

Oliver shifted his weight on Felicity’s other side, glaring at Tommy murderously. “Tommy, if you have ever cared about me at all you will shut  _up_  and let her work her magic.”

Tommy frowned lopsidedly at him, bristling a little at Oliver’s tone. After a moment, he sighed. “Fine, but explanations after.”

Oliver nodded emphatically. “Sure, but  _later_.”

Felicity rolled her eyes heavenward. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, but—can the two of you be distracting for like three minutes? Loudly.”

The boys eyed each other, and then Oliver stood as Tommy quirked one eyebrow. “We can do that.”

Tommy nodded. “Saturday night special?”

Oliver raised a finger like he would object, sucked in a breath—held it, deflated, and dropped his hand. Glowering—almost pouting, really, he sighed, “Fine.”

Oliver hurried quickly around towards Tommy, who stood and strode dramatically past his friend and sucked in a great breath. Throwing his head back, he sang— _loudly_ , “Mamaaa! Just killed a man!”

Felicity’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, her eyes widening and flicking to Oliver when he stood with his back to Tommy and practically  _howled_ , “Put my gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead! Mamaaaa!”

Tommy clenched a fist at his chest, shut his eyes, and agonized, “Life had  _juuuust_ beguuuun!”

Oliver spun towards him, arms flinging out. “And  _now_  I’ve gone and thrown it  _allll_ awaaaaay.”

Felicity shut her mouth with a click and shook herself. She needed to get to work. Mouthing  _oh my god_ , she lifted the laptop lid and began furiously typing as Oliver and Tommy put on the duet performance of their lives to cover the grunting, moaning, and wet slapping noises issuing from the laptop’s speakers.

In moments, the laptop was silenced.

Shortly after that, Felicity pumped a fist into the air and called, “Done!” just before Tommy and Oliver could hit the “Galileo”s.

Both boys instantly dropped the performance and turned to her, to a small—but larger than had existed when they’d started—chorus of disappointed boos.

Stuffing Tommy’s essay into Oliver’s laptop, Felicity stood and snatched up her messenger bag, glaring at Oliver, then turning to include Tommy, who startled at the look. “You are both  _absolutely_  doing that again after school where I can actually watch.”

Oliver opened his mouth, presumably to whine, but Felicity jabbed a finger at him. “You  _owe me_.”

Oliver deflated gustily and nodded.

Felicity nodded sharply, Tommy biding his silence patiently. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here before your fans revolt.”

Tommy and Oliver looked back at their small audience, both of them grinning under the attention, but nevertheless followed orders and fell in line to either side of Felicity as she led the way back into the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of my Smoaking Billionaires BrOT3 high school AU that heretofore has lived almost entirely on Tumblr. I will eventually be gathering all of what I have from that universe into an AO3 collection, but this one felt like it stood up okay on its own.


	8. Just a Phase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy discovers a piece of Felicity's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by sunshinesmoak

Of course he’d noticed the panda flats. They were adorable,  _she_  was adorable, and he’d assumed it was just indicative of her quirky, eclectic sense of style.

He hadn’t expected this.

Felicity called from the living room, “Tommy, did you find the Scrabble rules in there? I’m telling you, that move was  _absolutely_  legal and I’ll fight you on it.”

He stood in the door of her hall closet, a stack of board games at his feet, a medium-sized cardboard box resting on his forearm as he held up the lid and gaped at its contents.

It was a panda explosion.

There were at least two–three?–panda scarves, neatly folded; a set of panda-patterned bowls; a panda-face phone case; three sizes of panda figurines ranging from shockingly realistically detailed to adorably cartoonish; a panda plush toy; panda bear earrings–

“Oh my god,” Tommy murmured, eyes going wide.

He dropped the lid to the floor and dipped his hand into the box, hooking his finger in silky material. His eyebrows made a break for his hairline as he lifted into view a thong with a cartoon panda face on the crotch. “Oh my  _god_.”

“Tommy?” Felicity called again, voice confused and slightly suspicious.

Tommy knew he should put the box back, but he couldn’t stop staring at the thong. At the thong and its many panda-related friends.

“What are you–” Tommy’s head whipped up to see Felicity coming down the hall towards him, eyes slowly zeroing in on the box he held and the panties hooked on his finger. Her mouth fell open, cheeks flushing, and she instantly raced forward. “Put that down!”

He could only stare at her, mouth slowly spreading in a grin. “Seriously, Smoak? Do you like pandas, maybe?”

Flushing deeper, she bent and snatched the lid from the floor and ducked his eyes. “I went through a  _phase_ , okay?”

He tucked his lips together to refrain from commenting in a way that would get him smacked, but she shot him a glare as if she could hear his thoughts.

He waggled his eyebrows, grinning again and giving in with a chuckle. He lifted the thong a little higher before dropping it back in the box and holding it so she could cram the lid back on. “I bet you looked real cute in those.”

The look she gave him as she shoved the box back into its corner of shame was dry as the Sahara. Tommy backed out of the closet so she could close the door, and for a second, she paused, then turned to smirk at him over her shoulder. “You should see me in the matching bra.”

Snickering, she bounced away back towards the living room while Tommy stared after her, mouth open, brain short-circuited.


End file.
